The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.
I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument.
The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set;
only there is the agony of wishing in my heart.
The blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by.
I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice;
only I have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.
The livelong day has passed in spreading his seat on the floor;
but the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house.
I live in the hope of meeting with him;but the meeting is not yet.
- Tagore, Gitanjali
It seems only fitting to resume blogging after the long slumber with these words of Tagore. I cannot say that I am a huge fan of poetry. To be downright honest, there have been many instances where I found myself questioning what exactly are poems supposed to be. This especially after reading some of the compositions of self-proclaimed poetry lovers which left me more confused than interested. There was an instance when one of my frens even showed me her poetry excitedly. She had even got it printed on some clothes as well... but for the heart of me!! instead of appreciating it, I found myself asking what was the difference between poetry and prose. Of course, I did make some of the appropriate noises that I was expected to but it was only then that it hit me that I probably had no sense of poetry in me!!! This was a fact I reiterated to myself, many years later on when I could not understand the beauty of some composition that everyone had only praise for. By this time of course, I knew the reason - Poems were coded messages which I could not decode and hence, it was intelligible to me. Simple! A linguistically derived reason!
Why am i writing this post? Sometime back, I read a poem which i actually liked! Whats more, I actually understood it and could relate to it! It was not one of the great masters' writings. This was when I was introduced to some more thinkers whose crafts with words was woven in simplicity. Yes, I am now enjoying some of them.
Tagore's composition in the above poem is moving, specially in the first half. The musician readying his instrument, the songster (or the poet) readying his words are seeking for ways to best express what still remains within the heart of the performer/composer. Often, it is the silence that speaks more than words. I must say I find too many 'he/his' in the second part though. The first part is more appealing to me, as it is seems more open and refers to un-achieved desires of the heart, of emotions struggling to get expressed.......... the unfinished-ness that is so characteristic of life itself...........
